lemon-basil's blog

Guruji

As a meditation and Ashtanga yoga practitioner myself, I know firsthand Qindil’s frustrations with meditation. The spiritual path is not an easy one. For the past five years, I have spent time in Mysore, India studying with the founder and guru of Ashtanga yoga, Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, who passed away this past April. My time in India with “Guruji,” as his students and friends knew him, opened my eyes to the true meaning of self-discipline, presence, and lightheartedness.

For better or worse, the original forms of yoga (which are thousands of years old) were diluted and distorted when brought to America in the 70’s to create a Western fitness craze. Yoga was never intended to be a workout. In fact, the sole purpose of yoga is to balance the body in order to be present to and connect with a higher power. Jois advises: "Don't approach yoga with a business mind - looking for worldly gain. If you want to be near God, turn your mind toward God, and practice yoga. As the scriptures say, ‘without yoga practice, how can knowledge give you moksha [liberation]?’”

At first, I felt slightly uncomfortable living with an Indian family since, as I discovered, Indian culture since it is so centered on family tradition and religion. American society, on the other hand, values success, and in a society of “do-ers” and “achievers”, I practiced yoga for years before I realized that self-discipline, both in yoga and in life, is not about forcing or punishing oneself. Rather, self-discipline means being present at all times and completely surrendering to and accepting the moment. Guruji’s constant instruction for me to “keep breathing” taught me that true dedication, though not easy, is very simple: know and act upon your purpose, and don’t take yourself too seriously.

Guruji’s life’s work was teaching and practicing yoga, and I most admired how he lived with a light heart and a light step without ever losing sight of his calling. Jois never stopped smiling or laughing, yet he was extremely tough and disciplined. He was a truly gifted yogi and teacher and I feel honored to have known and studied with him. His grandson, Sharath Jois, now runs the Mysore school and carries on the traditions of the Ashtanga yoga method.

Jois’ book, Yoga Mala, explains the yogic connection between the body, mind, and spirit.

Stairway to "Gebel"

In Mahfouz’s The Journey of Ibn Fattouma, protagonist Qindil experiences several spiritual epiphanies over the course of his multi-decade long journey to the land of Gebel. A twenty-year old Qindil leaves his home, the land of Islam, seeking adventure, meaning, and, most importantly, wisdom that he hopes to bring back to his “ailing” homeland (15). Qindil travels to the lands of Mashriq, Haira, Halba, Aman, and Ghuroub, where he encounters an old spiritual master who teaches him how to prepare for the final journey to Gebel. Qindil builds his spiritual strength through constant meditation practice that he often finds exhausting and frustrating:

I struggled with concentration and it struggled with me. I joined in a heated battle with the pictures of my past life…the days would pass filled with torture, resolution, and hope. (142)

The mastery of the human ego in order to reach spiritual enlightenment is an ancient soul struggle. History’s greatest religious and spiritual teachers, from Buddha to Jesus Christ to Gandhi, all taught that in order to live in eternal peace and joy, one must go within. In Ibn Fattouma, Gebel represents the state of inner peace and ultimate truth. As Qindil’s teacher puts it, “In every person are treasures that have been covered over and which he must search out”. One must unravel the layers of social conditioning and fear in order to reveal one’s inherent “treasures”.

When Qindil finally reaches the last part of his journey, the mountain that leads to Gebel, he must traverse on foot. Qindil does not consider returning, but rather reflects on how far he has come: “I thought about myself and those I had left behind, and about the circumstances I would meet that might prevent my returning.” Mahfouz leaves the end of Qindil’s story untold to represent the fact that enlightenment is a personal endeavor. No one can describe it or teach it or give it; the journey may encompass relationships and experiences in the outside world, but ultimately all true fulfillment comes from one’s brave journey within. Perhaps too, Mahfouz omits Qindil’s destination in order to emphasize the importance of his journey. Qindil’s trials, mistakes, heartbreaks, joys, and romances are all epiphanies within themselves. “Away from home,” Qindil writes, “I am remolded in a new form” (25). Because he grows wisdom with each experience, Qindil finds a sort of existential travel experience in all the places he goes. I believe that he does reach Gebel; however, ultimately it does not really matter, does it? In the novel, Qindil lives a full life with a range of adventures, emotions, and relationships. What more could one ask for?

Writer's Block

Sumire’s writing plays a crucial thematic role in the development of her character, her relationships with K and Miu, and the plot arc of Sputnik Sweetheart. Throughout the novel, Sumire struggles with completing any written works; despite having “many stories to tell,” she cannot seem to find the “right outlet” for her ideas (12). Sumire’s failure to write a story with “both a beginning and an end” mirrors the motif of ‘the other side’ that Miu speaks of and Sumire subsequently writes about later in the novel (12). Sumire has difficulty completing a work; she feels as if something is missing. Similarly, Miu cannot live and love freely with only half her self in the physical world.

However, I would more like to address the writer’s block that Sumire experiences when she falls in love with Miu. Oftentimes, relationships take up a lot of time, space, and energy in one’s life; consequently one may become less focused on one’s personal, professional or creative ambitions. Sumire stops writing altogether. Not only does Sumire expend vast amounts of energy fantasizing about and obsessing over Miu, but she becomes more critical of her work as she becomes more refined professionally. Sumire changes her clothes, studies Italian, works at an office as Miu’s assistant - perhaps she begins to judge writing as an empty, wishy-washy endeavor. She confides in K,

I read the stuff I wrote not long ago, and it’s boring. What could I have been thinking? It’s like looking across the room at some filthy socks tossed on the floor. I feel awful, realizing all the time and energy I wasted. (49)

Oftentimes, relationships can distract artists from their art. Other times, relationships open up the artist emotionally, resulting in creative spurts. As a songwriter myself, I believe that one’s state of mind determines one’s creative yield. Writer’s block, to paraphrase the singer Jewel, is nothing more than judgment of one’s work.

Once Sumire falls in love with Miu, it is as if nothing can compare to Miu. Sumire stops writing because everything she writes will fail to measure up to the love she has for Miu. Just like Miu splits in half on the ferris wheel, Sumire splits in half when she meets Miu. She, in effect, loses her creativity in order to devote her the other half of herself to Miu. When Miu rejects her, she writes the final pieces that K reads from the floppy disks at the end of the story. Sumire possibly crosses over to the ‘other side’ in search of her whole self, her complete self, her story with “both a beginning and an end” (12).

Chinese Herbs

When Z’s lover falls ill in A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers, she shares a bit of ancient Chinese wisdom with him: “…Your illness is brought from your thoughts. You hate this society so much, and you feel so fed up with this place. You don’t have any disease. You are just like your old van…used to be so energetic…” (227). The 2,000+ year old tradition of Chinese medicine is based largely on the flow of energy, or Qi (pronounced chee) along the body’s meridians, or energy pathways. Discomfort, illness, or pain is a result of imbalanced, stagnant, or stuck Qi.

While Western medicine traces illness linearly through cause and effect, Chinese medicine takes a more relational approach: the body is very sensitive to all aspects of its environment. Internal stimuli and emotions affect the body as much as, if not more than, external stimuli such as viruses and germs. As Z explains to her sick lover,

You Westerners always want to precisely name illness. But in China, we don’t name all these kind of diseases. Because we think all the illness actually causes from very simple reason. If you want to solve your illness then you must start to calm your whole body, not just taking pills every time… (227)

Z continues on to describe the three basic causes of illness in Chinese medicine: Internal Pathogenic Qi (organ problems), External Pathogenic Qi (pronounced chee) (virus that enters the body), and Trauma (emotional or physical). Once one has identified the place of the ailment’s origination, he takes the necessary measures to rebalance the Qi. Chinese healing methods include acupuncture, herbal medicines, cupping, shiatsu and other types of massage, Qigong, martial arts, and even more subtle methods such as feng shui.

In addition to viewing the human body more holistically, Chinese medicine focuses more on prevention than treatment of symptoms. In fact, in most Asian countries, citizens incorporate herbs, acupuncture and massage into their daily health regimen, similar to the way Westerners exercise and eat healthily in order to prevent illness.

According to Chinese medical traditions, a healthy body’s many systems function harmoniously. In a healthy, vital individual, the opposing energies of yin (cool, female, receptive, substantial) and yang (hot, male, initiating, movement/growth-oriented) are balanced (though females naturally have a bit more yin energy and vice versa.) Chinese continue to practice the ancient traditions of holistic remedying to balance out one’s Qi; in fact, Chinese medicine has become popular in the West. In Concise, Z’s lover expresses wonder at her knowledge of medicine: “You mean all Chinese people know about this?” (228) Unfortunately, our society has largely lost a curiosity about the body’s many systems and functions as well as a kinesthetic awareness. We Westerners can take an important lesson from the Chinese culture – before merely treating our symptoms with chemicals and drugs, we may want to explore the relationships between our various symptoms as well as the natural alternatives our bodies may be seeking.

Other sources:

http://chinese-school.netfirms.com/Chinese-medicine.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Traditional_Chinese_medicine

Islamic Family

I was struck by the roles of women within the family vs. political structure in The Journey of Ibn Fattouma. Women hold power within the families; however, in most of the lands Qindil travels to, they lack political power. In fact, the women of Mashriq are treated as slaves.

When Qindil becomes interested in Arousa, he asks her father’s permission to court and marry her. Qindil is surprised to learn of the say that women in Mashriq have in choosing their mates: “No sooner does a young man appeal to a girl than she invites him in, before the eyes and ears of her family – and she’ll throw him out if she gets tired of him, keeping the children, which are hers” (37). In Mashriq, the women take charge of their personal futures. Arousa agrees to marry Qindil; however, she retains complete control over their children and prohibits her husband from educating their son in the ways of Islam.

Within the relationship, Arousa’s preferences rule; however, Arousa warns Qindil before their marriage, “I do not possess the right of final agreement, for we are all the slaves of the overlord and he is our legal owner” (42). Qindil must buy Arousa from the government of Mashriq. Arousa’s individual power within relationships contrasted with her political powerlessness fascinated me. I began to wonder why the women of Mashriq were so socially liberated and politically limited. In Qindil’s native land, the traditional Muslim men seem to command and possess the Muslim women. However, Qindil undergoes a sort of gender role reversal in Mashriq. During the full moon ceremony, Qindil and Arousa both make love with strangers, as is customary as a part of the night’s festivities. Qindil feels “disturbed and angry, robbed of willpower and happiness” and wonders what Arousa is “doing with some stranger” (46). While Qindil feels that he has “dirtied a sacred relationship”, Arousa is accustomed to the sexual and personal freedoms socially accepted in Mashriq.

Mashriq is not the only one of Qindil’s destinations in which the women possess a power foreign to Qindil. Observing a family dinner in Halba, Qindil notes that the women speak with a “bold and spontaneous frankness just like men” (91). Samia criticizes the limited role of women in Qindil’s Islamic homeland. She believes that women play a crucial and powerful role in traditional Islam. Although the Halban women’s outspokenness, intelligence and work ethic surprises Qindil, it also attracts him to Samia, whom he soon marries. Qindil develops a deep respect for and certain fear of Samia:

She was possessed of a strength at which my heart rejoiced…I found myself face to face with a brilliant intelligence, an enlightened mind, and exceptional goodness. I was convinced she was superior to me in many things, and this troubled me – I who had not seen woman other than as an object of enjoyment for man. (103)

Qindil’s relationships with Arousa and Samia over the course of his travels provide him with deep happiness and satisfaction. His greatest sorrows are in losing his two loves. Despite the political powerlessness of women in the novel, I was pleased to observe the sexual prejudice that Qindil releases and the partnership he develops with Arousa and then Samia.

Traveler Finds Meaning

I believe that, whether consciously or unconsciously, all humans crave deeper meaning in their lives. In A Phenomenology of Tourist Experiences, Erik Cohen presents travel as one avenue of finding a sense of belonging and fulfillment. Those tourists who travel in the "Existential Mode" actively seek meaning through a pilgrimage in which they fully commit to the religious, spiritual and moral practices of another culture or people. As I read Cohen's article, though, I wondered: Could a tourist visiting another country for entertainment or pleasure ("Recreational Mode") encounter a culture he so resonated with that he, in effect, converted to pilgrim life in the "Existential Mode"? Certainly fulfillment lies inside, rather than outside oneself; as Cohen's "5 Modes of Tourism" illustrate, it is the person, not the place, that determines one's travel experience. One's personal gains through travel depend solely one one's intentions for traveling.  However, some active seekers in the "Experimental mode" of travel never find the feeling of completeness they crave. Similarly, traveling may have a profound and life-changing impact on someone who sought only entertainment through travel. Often, one finds meaning in the most unexpected of places; sometimes, a feeling of belonging finds us. "Personally significant" experiences are not always the ones we set out to create. I believe that the most beautiful moments are spontaneous and seemingly coincidental. Many of the travel novels we have read this semester are dark; for the most part, the protagonists are traveling to escape or find solutions to their problems. However, most of the characters do have moments of illumination, joy, and a sort of spiritual contentment; in other words, most of the characters experience brief glimpses of Cohen's "Existential Mode" of traveling. In Death In Venice, Aschenbach finds momentary clarity in watching Tazdiu. He feels emotional, physical, and spiritual fulfillment when in Tadziu's presence. Indeed, Aschenbach travels to Venice in Cohen's "Recreational Mode" of tourism; he seeks nothing but escape, entertainment, and enjoyment. However, his inspiration allows him to transcend the "Recreational Mode" and develop a sort of spiritual connection to and emotional obsession with Tadziu. I have a friend who traveled to India as a recreational tourist. In the South-Indian town of Mysore, she observed the street children with poor, disabled or deceased parents. My friend was so moved that she decided to move to Mysore and open her own orphanage. Over a decade later, her orphanage provides a home for dozens of children. Although my friend was not searching for her life's purpose, she found it. She traveled in the "Recreational Mode" and had an experience that raised her to the "Existential Mode". I can only hope to have similar profound experiences in my own life, whether through travel or other means.

The Comfort of Strangers

I must admit, though I sensed a hint of darkness in McEwan’s style, I did not see the ending of The Comfort of Strangers coming. I knew that Robert and Caroline’s relationship dysfunction went deeper than the hints that McEwan’s gives the reader throughout most of the novel – Caroline’s physical ailments and disturbing pleas to Colin, Robert’s extreme sexist philosophies, the story of Robert’s past coupled with his pride about his father and grandfathers, etc. But the novel’s climaxing in brutal, sexualized murder by Robert and Caroline shocked me.

It shouldn’t have. As I look back on the novel now, I can trace McEwan’s not-so-subtle hints that the novel will not only end badly, but terrifyingly. McEwan sets up the reader from the beginning, with from disturbing recounts of his childhood and (at first) subtle hints of chauvinism: “sweet things, especially chocolate, were bad for boys. It made them weak in character, like girls” (35).

Originally, I believed that Colin and Mary’s constant reminders to each other that they are “on holiday” spoke more of their tense, strained relationship than set a dark tone. Now, though, I see the repetition of these lines as a literary device used to make the end all the more heartbreaking and ironic: a vacation that should be relaxing and enjoyable takes a tragic turn. I started to consciously suspect a twist after Colin’s swims out to try to save Mary, whom he thinks is drowning. McEwan is telling the reader something –cleverly, but not subtly – through this “false alarm” incident.

So why didn’t I get the hints? Firstly, the ending is truly disturbing; to fully expect it the tone of the whole novel would have to be equally dark. But McEwan builds the suspense brilliantly! I realize now, though, that he tricks the reader into thinking The Comfort of Strangers is a love story. The pages and pages of erotic narratives chronicling the rekindling of Colin and Mary’s relationship are so seductive and romantic! I found myself wanting to be in a foreign city with an attractive and adoring man. McEwan’s brilliant depictions of a revitalized romance make the ending of The Comfort of Strangers all the more surprising and heartbreaking.

Overcast SeaAs a travel nouvella, Death in Venice makes wonderful use of the setting and landscape to establish the novel’s tone and illuminate the protagonist. Mann’s detailed and weighty landscape descriptions are symbolic of the plot arc and Aschenbach’s inner workings. At the beginning of the novel, Aschenbach travels to an Adriatic island before deciding to go to Venice. On the ship, Aschenbach longs for “fresh air, for a look at the sky. Surely it would clear over Venice…Yet both sky and sea remained turbid and leaden” (31). Already, Mann hints that Aschenbach’s “yearning for freedom, release, oblivion” will prove to be in vain (8). The image of the dark sea and sky evokes a feeling of confinement, entrapment. In a sense, Venice, too, traps Aschenbach in the middle of the book: Aschenbach wants to leave, plans to leave, regrets wanting to leave, and then cannot leave. Furthermore, Aschenbach’s internal conflict over his stay in Venice further torments him. When Aschenbach arrives in Venice, he first notices the beach, “all but devoid of people…and the sunless sea, which at high tide was sending long, low waves against the shore in a calm, regular cadence.” (42). Aschenbach hopes to escape “the humdrum routine of a rigid, cold, passionate duty” through traveling to Venice; however, he first notices the “calm, regular cadence” of the sea and the deserted, dreary beach (8). Throughout the novel, Aschenbach both dismisses his instincts about the unhealthy state of Venice and is dismissed by locals who do not want to induce paranoia. While reading the novel, I asked myself periodically if indeed, Aschenbach was overly paranoid or if the situation was indeed dire. Mann answered my question by continuing the menacing weather and landscape descriptions. One morning in Venice, Aschenbach awakens to note that the “weather had not improved…The wind came from the land. The sea was dull and calm, shrunken almost, under a pale, overcast sky, the horizon blandly close; the sea had retreated so far from the beach…A sudden despondency came over [Aschenbach]” (50). Might the image of the near horizon symbolize Aschenbach’s nearing death? Mann’s bleak landscape descriptions symbolize Aschenbach’s physical and psychological confinement and foreshadow the protagonist’s downfall. Despite his rigidity and over-exaggerated discipline, Aschenbach has high hopes for his travels to Venice at the beginning of the novella. Mann’s forebodings, though, are clear throughout the novella: his writing takes on an ominous tone through dark descriptions of Venice’s natural forces that foreshadow the protagonist’s eventual death.

Kerouac & Cassidy

Kerouac’s On the Road chronicles the road trip travels of narrating protagonist Sal and his friends, primarily the “Western kinsman of the sun”, Dean Moriarty (7). The novel’s characters travel America countless times in search of adventure, friendship, love, and meaning. Although Sal and Dean have various romantic relationships over the course of the novel, the two male protagonists embark in the novel’s most profound and important relationship.

I have always thought of a true friend as someone who will sacrifice for you in times of need, someone who will suspend all judgment and accept you regardless of action or circumstance. While reading On the Road though, I wondered if I would have remained friends with Dean after he treated me the way he treats Sal at some points in the book, leaving him broke in San Francisco or sick with dysentery in Mexico. Sal knows that Dean will, as Camille warns, “leave [him] out in the cold any time it’s in his interest” (159). However, Sal continues returning to Dean, seeking more adventures, though he has “lost faith” in his friend who is not “concerned about [Sal’s] welfare” (160). Why does Sal keep such an untrustworthy relationship in his life? Throughout the novel, Sal and Dean grow close as well as apart. At one point, as Sal departs for New York, he states, “we were thinking we’d never see one another again and we didn’t care” (167). Just a few months later, though, Sal returns to Dean in San Francisco. Does he go back to his friend for more superficial thrills or true human connection?

After a fight with Dean, Sal admits “You know I don’t have close relationships with anybody any more – I don’t know what to do with these things” (202). Maybe Sal and Dean’s inability to be truly honest with themselves – to face their deep desires for purpose and meaning – translates to their relationship. Their friendship seems superficial: they use each other to temporarily fill up on freedom, adrenaline, and a feeling of wholeness to substitute for their inner emptiness. However, despite each character’s selfishness, their relationship is certainly not black and white. True, Sal romanticizes Dean [“his ‘criminality’ was…wild yea-saying over burst of American joy; it was Western…something new, long prophesied” (7)]. But just because Dean is more concerned with his own issues that with those of his friends does not mean he cannot embark on a friendship. One of the most touching moments of the novel occurs after Dean cries over a fight with Sal. Sal recalls,

It was probably the pivotal point of our friendship when [Dean] realized I had actually spent some hours thinking about him and his troubles, and he was trying to place that in his tremendously involved and tormented mental categories. Something clicked in both of us. (178)

Dean and Sal do share moments of honesty and connection. Their relationship is not rooted in these virtues, as each man struggles with his demons of loneliness and longing; however, Sal at least finds compassion for his friend whose actions verge on unacceptable. Although Sal’s enabling of Dean’s betrayal is not justified; Sal understands and accepts his friends’ emotional shortcomings. When Dean betrays Sal by leaving him sick in Mexico, Sal realizes “what a rat [Dean was], but [understands] the impossible complexity of his life, how he had to leave [Sal] there, sick, to get on with his wives and woes” (289). Whether Sal is a saint or insanely in denial of Dean’s selfishness is left up to the reader. One cannot deny, though, that Sal feels deeply for Dean. Although the reader never gets Dean’s perspective, I believe that on some level Dean cares for Sal as well.

Dean and Sal’s relationship may not be based in trust or honesty, but certainly they share plenty of emotions and experiences. They are not perfect, but their relationship is not totally shallow. Towards the end of the novel, Sal expresses his true affection for Dean, not just his desire to go out for ‘kicks’: “All I hope, Dean, is someday we’ll be able to live on the same street with our families and get to be a couple of old timers together” (241). The romantic idea of growing old with one’s friend symbolizes the longing for stability and contentment that both are searching for “across the Western night” (178).

The "Heart" of the Desert

The “Heart” of the Desert Paul Bowle’s The Sheltering Sky follows American married couple Port and Kit and their friend Tunner on their travels through Algeria in the Sahara desert. As the three travelers move deeper into the desert, the towns get progressively more rustic, dirty, diseased and dangerous. This downward spiral of travel symbolizes the deteriorating of the travelers’ morality and sense of security, Port and Kit’s marriage, and eventually Port and Kit’s physical and mental (respectively) health.

The group travels through various towns in Algeria, namely Boussif, Ain Krorfa, Bou Noura, Messad, El Ga’a, and Sba. Bowles was not exaggerating when he portrayed these small Saharan towns – I was unable to find much information on any of them. Needless to say, these small Algerian towns are not common American tourist destinations. Port addresses the towns’ isolation at the very beginning of the novel: he chooses to travel to Algeria instead of Italy (his wife’s desire) because he considers himself a true traveler, “belonging no more to one place than to the next, [moving] slowly, over periods of years, from one part of the earth to another…[he] compares [his own civilization] with the others, and rejects those elements he finds not to his liking” (6). Port’s preoccupation with traveling deeper and deeper into the desert is akin to his tendency to dig himself deeper and deeper into emotional darkness with his intellectual philosophies. He claims a desire to deepen his relationship with Kit but is not willing to sacrifice his own desires for sex and adventure in order to compromise with his wife.

While reading the novel, I periodically asked myself: what is Bowles saying about Algeria and, more generally, Africa? The novel’s protagonists often describe the Saharan towns as derelict, shabby, dirty, and dangerous. But before we assume that Bowles is intending to blame these emotions on Africa, let us take a deeper look at what Bowles believes about his characters. Although Kit and Port grow more and more sick and miserable over the course of the novel, they are not truly happy to begin with. We know that one of the main reasons for their traveling is to rekindle their love for each other as well as a sense of excitement based in adventure. Unfortunately, they do not succeed. However, Bowles provides an important lesson with their story: traveling will not content us. It is not solely the place to which one goes, but the attitude and behavior one brings along that determines one’s experience.

More than anything, The Sheltering Sky depicts the dissolution of two lives. Bowles uses the sparse landscape of the desert as a metaphor for the emptiness and misery of his protagonists. Although Kit and Port look judgmentally upon the Algerian natives, Bowles does not give these prejudices credence, as his protagonists themselves act completely immorally. As the characters travel into the heart of the desert, they lose their own hearts.